


Wanting

by chibiwriter



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiwriter/pseuds/chibiwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An elf in denial drinks at noon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting

Fenris stared at the wine in his glass, the red liquid glimmering. It’s not night, not yet even evening. He supposed it’s either of those times somewhere else, somewhere not Kirkwall. But given that it WAS Kirkwall, with its Templars and its Mages and its infuriatingly attractive son-of-a-bitch Champions, Fenris felt that a drink in the middle of the day was completely warranted.

He growled and tipped the glass back to drain it. It was bitter and he found that it did little to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. It did serve to make his head swim a tad more, for which he was grateful. He was not in denial. Not at all. 

Hawke was an attractive man. He’s tall, towering over most in the city. People parted when he walked through the streets when he was in full armor regalia. He didn’t wear armor often, though - a shame really. It would make battles easier, for one. And unlike most mages who were naught but skin and bone and soft fleshy things, Hawke was built like a bull and could likely toss one down if he had to. Some thought he had Qunari blood, but Fenris was positive that he was 100% human. 

100% mage, as well. One of the strongest the elf had ever seen. He’d lost count of how often he’d felt the warm, fluttering feeling of healing magic being used on him or others when in battle. The other mage, Anders, had been restricted to secondary healing duties if Hawke was too busy, and had all but been ordered not to do so for him. His magic felt too sour, too strong.

Fenris trusted no mage. Especially not an abomination.

But he’d come to trust Hawke, over the years. Come to feel other things for him, too. Dark things, the kind that slithered into his mind when it was late and he was far too sober. Warm thoughts, far too warm that left him shivering and clutching sheets with white knuckles, staunchly refusing to let his hands drift lower. Sentimental feelings that made his chest compress when the dark haired man flashed him a giant shit-eating grin, covered in blood and panting with glimmering amber eyes the color of his favorite whiskey.

He scowled at his empty glass, the urge to chunk it against the wall simmering dully in the back of his mind. He resisted, if only because he had precious few glassware pieces left. And Hawke had complained last he’d come to the mansion that there were far too many glass shards littering the ground for it to be safe for its barefooted tenant. He stared at the wall, noting its already crumbling face with apathetic distaste. 

Fenris swallowed harshly, envisioning the subtle curve of the man back as he’d stooped to sweep up the worst of it, cheerfully ignoring the elf’s grumbling protests. His casual clothes, soft robes that were cinched at his waist, clung to his large frame. He flicked his tongue out to moisten his lips, dragging his teeth slowly over his bottom lip, mind swimming with hazy thoughts of large hands and barrel chests and oh that infernal smirk of his when he turned to catch Fenris’s gaze-

The elf jumped like he’d been struck when a hand clapped onto his shoulder. He was out of his chair in a second, lyrium tattoos glowing fiercely as he rounded on the intruder.

Hawke’s eyebrows were raised, raising up both of his hands and backing away from the startled elf. “Never thought I’d see the day when I snuck up on YOU of all people.” he said, chuckling.

Fenris scowled. “You did not.” he said bitingly, all evidence to the contrary ignored.

Hawke snorted, shaking his head in disbelief but thankfully dropping the subject. Fenris shifted his weight, swallowing harshly and attempting to chase away the last of the last of the disorienting images from his mind. “What… What brings you here today, Hawke.” he said, wincing at the fumbling formality of his words.

The mage grinned and Fenris’s breath caught in his throat. “Well, I heard about some slavers running around to the north of here. I figured you’d be interested.” he let his voice lilt up, the question therein explicitly implied.

The elf snorted, corner of one side of his lips quirking upward mostly without his consent. “Of course Hawke.” he said, unable to stop the next words from tumbling past his lips in his inebriated state, “I enjoy following you.” 

Hawke’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into his hair. Fenris felt his cheeks and ears flush, ducking his head and ruffling his hair.  
“I, uh,” Hawke’s voice sounded embarrassed, “I’m glad to hear that, Fenris.”

The elf looked up, surprise undoubtedly written on his face. Hawke offered him a hesitant smile, reaching back and scratching the back of his head and attempting to hide a grin. Badly. Fenris could only nod, muttering something about begin ready within the hour. Hawke, in return, smiled and told him he’d be waiting for him at the northern entrance of the city.

After the mage had left, Fenris allowed himself a moment to smack himself in the face, steel gantlets notwithstanding. “Stupid.” he hissed, rubbing his face in an exasperated manner before sighing and beginning the attempt to make himself sober enough to accompany the mage - the one that haunted his thoughts and played on his desires - into battle.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr.


End file.
